Before the Vineyard
by RuthieGreen
Summary: circa 1904. W & J on cycling vacation touring the Niagara Peninsula w/ a bicycle built by William. They are deciding on how many children to adopt & have a discussion about breaking out of jail... with a little hedonism thrown in too. What could possibly go wrong? Enjoy the adventure & the mystery in there as well. Thank you Maureen & show writers for letting us play!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Suspension of disbelief required if you are familiar with the Niagara Peninsula or Canadian court systems (and probably cycling too.) I have three confessions: 1) I am guilty of plagiarism—I stole this plot, a character name in** _ **homage**_ **, and pieces of dialogue from a 1916 short story by Melville Davisson Post, and adapted it with a twist for W 2) For purposes of the story, I have also committed assault and probably murder on the circa 1900 Canadian judicial system and; 3) Ditto for a very nice area of the Niagara Peninsula. Sorry, neighbors. My excuse is: "The Story Made Me Do It."**

 **# # #**

 _ **Before the Vineyards**_

 **-Chapter 1-**

 **Monday**

"Julia! Honestly, what has gotten into you?" William Murdoch was trying very hard to project a stern image, but watching his wife giggle and romp with delight only made him feel even sillier and want to join her in the dark water - considering resisting her usually took all his resources anyway. The day had been hot with glorious sun beating down on them riding east across the long flat plain of land skirting Lake Ontario from Hamilton (where they had a fine picnic luncheon), to their current location outside of Grimsby. The pair could have made the forty or so total miles to Port Dalhousie (which had been their original plan) but instead were intrigued by the possibility of hearing an evening lecture by Mr. Thomas Troward on comparative religions, offered at the Grimsby Park and Beach Chautauqua Methodist Campground. Unfortunately Mr. Troward cancelled at the last minute, leaving William and his wife with nothing to do and insufficient time to get to their intended destination, and nowhere to lodge.

A small campfire sheltered between two clumps of trees along the shore was the only illumination along this stretch of lakeshore. The air remained warm even at such a late hour, accompanied by a slight southerly breath of air. There was no moon and the stars were obscured by high clouds, so for light William fed small pieces of drift wood to the flames. Their tandem bicycle and its trailer were propped up against one of the boles, where William had devised a canopy for shelter with the intention of sleeping there for the night, at Julia's insistence. Behind them to the south at 60-plus meters high, left over from the last ice age, the Niagara Escarpment loomed over Grimsby with Lake Ontario stretching north, its soft waves barely moving. Dinner had been a mean affair of bread and cheese leftover from their lunch; however they were so hungry from cycling the food quality did not matter. William even purchased the last offerings from two street vendors and was seriously contemplating finding a cottage to beg a handout, as he had become suddenly ravenous.

"William! Come join me!" Julia beckoned from the water's edge where she was twirling and splashing, her long pale bare legs contrasting with the inky darkness, and the glow from a lit cigarette in her hand making fascinating patterns on his retinas. "The water is refreshing. I am thinking of just taking this whole cycling costume off and finding my one for swimming. We did pack it, did we not?" she laughed and trudged out of the water and over to where William was sitting on a blanket, and handed him the short cigarette.

That bathing costume, which had been a seemingly endless source of conflict while planning their trip (along with the rest of the luggage strapped to their small trailer), now appeared to be a good idea to her husband, who considered pulling swimming gear for both of them out of a duffel secured with rubber straps to the trailer basket. He took another pull on the cigarette before passing back it over to Julia as she sat beside him, letting a harsh rush of air into lungs unfamiliar with the practice, but enjoying the pleasant euphoria produced by the smoke. _An_ o _ther good idea after all,_ he thought while examining the novel effect firelight was currently having on his wife's curls, _although not enough to turn me into an_ _habitué_ , he promised himself. On the other hand, his fascination with the highlights and shadows dancing in her hair was quite compelling as he followed a silken thread from her braid… He smiled at her, stroking a hand along her arm, feeling each of her light hairs tingle and vibrate his fingertips. He inhaled fresh night air. "I recognize the odor; terpenes I believe. Tetra-hydro-cannabinol, you say?"

Julia giggled again. "I bet _you_ cannot say that three times fast." Of course, they proceeded to try with, to her mind, hilarious results. William, who never could tell a joke with a punch line, then tried to entertain her with some burlesque puns and witticisms, and for some reason she found his delivery to be hysterically funny, especially when he tried to make a joke about a three headed water dog out of the name for the drug with which they were currently experimenting.

She took a long drag on the remaining butt and held her breath a moment before exhaling. "Yes, the psycho-active compound. _Cannabis sativa_ I believerather than _Cannabis indica._ Ruby did not say where she got it, only that I should try it for the experience and that you should join me." She crushed out the smoke then leaned against him, reaching over to rummage in their food basket, her hip moving along his. "I don't think it is having any effect on me at all—so disappointing. I thought she was going to send something more bizarre like oil of hashish or an herb from her latest trip to India or even coca leaves." She brought out the remaining victuals – a broken package of McVitie's Digestives, with half of a Hershey's Milk Chocolate Bar, a new exotic treat that had travelled with them since getting off the train in Hamilton and which had somehow escaped predation until now.

Julia waved the chocolate bar. "This is not much to eat, William," then broke into a fit of laughter as the upright wrapper bent suggestively. Much to her surprise, her husband started to giggle as well; she had heard him laugh, occasionally uproariously, but the particular titter emanating from his lips at the moment just set her into another paroxysm at the thought of her husband being intoxicated when she was perfectly sober. "Oh, William!" she gasped as he reached over to compete with her for the goodies. "Let me have that. I am starving…." She met his face with hers and saw his eyes reflected the gleam of the campfire, lighting up his chocolate brown depths. Food was temporarily forgotten.

William pulled her down to his lap and found her mouth for a long, languid kiss. When he felt her give up all resistance and melt into him, he broke away and answered, "So am I…" with a low, husky voice. His mind felt both relaxed and aware while his senses seemed to be _glowing_ somehow. Along with that sensation, his physical desire for Julia which was never in short supply, seemed particularly insistent, so much so the fact they were essentially publically displayed on an open beach under a makeshift lean-to, did not deter him from turning Julia on her back and running his hands intimately over her person and resuming the kiss.

Julia responded with her own fingers twining in his hair and following the curves of his neck and shoulders. She pushed him away reluctantly. "There might be a night watch or patrol to keep the riff raff off this nice beach." She snickered again and looked around furtively, before giving an excited grin. "We should at least put the fire out…"

William rolled over, and picked up the snacks before they could be crushed or scattered. "In a moment. I have an idea…" He located the last of their treasures, another unusual food purchase from a French Confectioner's in Hamilton, after being tempted by a free sample. While Julia put a half dozen in a bag to satisfy her sweet tooth, William had spoken to the maker of the squares of _Pain de Sucre_ or _Guimauve,_ more interested inthe chemistry behind their creation. They did not fare well in the heat either, but William had a notion. He took a green stick off a nearby tree and threaded one of the _Guimauve_ onto an end and set it over some of the coals. In no time the sugar treat puffed up to became soft and yielding, yet browning nicely. He set a digestive down, a square of chocolate on it and then the toasted sugar on top, finishing off with new biscuit to make a sandwich. He handed the sticky mess to Julia who took a tiny bite then a larger one as her face lit into a smile.

"My, this is delicious. Mr. Murdoch I do declare you are a genius at times. No wonder I married you…" Julia smiled warmly with only the slightest bit of sticky residue on her face. "Can you make me another one?"

Her husband was in the process of making his own sugar and chocolate sandwich when the _Guimauve_ he was working onignited. He brought it up to his lips to blow the flames out, disappointed he ruined his morsel, but put it between the biscuits anyway and tasted it. "Hmmm. Not bad." He handed her the stick. "Mrs. Murdoch, here, you try it," he offered while licking his thumb and forefinger.

Julia gazed lovingly at William, who was looking relaxed and happy in a way she had never seen him before: shirt with no collar and open at the neck, sleeves rolled, shoes and socks off, hair blown back by the wind, sitting cross legged on a blanket eating strange food. It caused her to recall the life he had before becoming a member of the constabulary, involved plenty of dirt and physical labour. He usually held on to his inherent dignity, so when he adapted so easily to her suggestion to "camp out" it initially surprised her. She realized that she had been unfairly pigeon-holing him as in need of an airing out. _Why do we women often think our men are in need of adjustment or a little fixing up? Ridiculous!_ she told herself. _We should be attracted to them the way they are, not as we want them to be_. Her imagination started running away from her and she laughed again, while turning her stick over the coals and trying to see if the dessert was cooking properly.

Her laugh set his off again. "Julia? What's so funny?"

"I was imagining you trying to perfect toasting one of these things over your Bunsen burner… the sticky stuff wouldn't _dare_ get on one of Detective William Murdoch's beautiful suits..." Julia pointed out a drip that had fallen on his trouser leg, as her own sugar square burst into flames, signally a new round of chuckles. They managed to get all the available sandwiches assembled and eaten after which Julia pouted that she was still hungry.

William reached over to hold her jaw in his right hand and kiss her mouth, laying them down while putting his left arm around her waist and nesting their bodies. When he leaned away again he was panting lightly. "Yes," he said, finding her eyes with his and lowering his lashes, letting hunger of a different kind show. "If you will recall, and as you are aware by now I have nearly perfect recall…I believe you owe me a certain, ah-hemm, _chance_ upon which I never collected…" He gestured to the blanket and their position together.

"William! _A tryst..?_ Here…?" Julia's mind went immediately to how seldom she would have these kinds of adventures with William after starting a family. She surveyed the area and saw no potential interference from any direction, then challenged him with her eyes accompanied by a wicked smile.

William let go of her to scoop some sand onto the dying fire, plunging them into absolute blackness, and then slid himself back under their tarp, calling Julia to join him, tucked away in an anonymous recess where a second blanket was spread. Neither could see the other in the night. Julia stood and shook out the fireside blanket, making her way over by listening to his entreaty, and when she found him she covered them both as she lay beside her husband. "Julia," William said with a smile warming his voice as he adjusted the cloth to hide their bodies, "all I ask is that you _never_ tell Ruby the results of this particular experiment." He felt her nodding vigorously, as her busy, familiar hands made quick work of his shirt and braces, whilst he explored her corset-less bodice. "And afterwards we will clean up in the lake, with or without your bathing costume..."

 **# # #**

 **So,** _ **Dear Reader**_ **: Thank you for choosing my story. I am hoping you will read to the end, and then you will write/review**


	2. Chapter 2

**-Chapter 2-**

 **Tuesday**

Rinsed, dry, dressed and on their bicycle before dawn, Julia and William pushed east to get to the Welland Canal lock southeast of St. Catherine's, hoping to beat the day's promise of another scorcher by riding up some of the steeper portions of the escarpment towards Thorold in relative ease on one of the boats making transit. This had been another compromise between them in planning their trip: from Toronto to just outside Hamilton by train, then bicycle along Lake Ontario to St. Catherine's, continue south roughly parallel to the Welland Canal to Port Colborne, east again along Lake Erie to Fort Erie, finally north along the Niagara River to Niagara-on-the-Lake. They would end up taking a steamer back across Lake Ontario to Toronto, completing the circuit. It was a chance to spend time together on an out-of-doors adventure doing something they both enjoyed, while field-testing William's new bicycle and tires for cycling on varied terrain James Pendrick invented. William jumped at the chance to be the first one to try them out, and concocted this scheme for a real-world test.

When Julia found out William and Pendrick's plan, of course she wanted to get in on it as well, having been enthralled and not a little jealous when she heard Miss Annie Cohen Kopchovsky, (otherwise known as Annie Londonderry) give an exciting lecture about her trip around the world on a bicycle. And Julia _had_ been persuasive, pointing out women were purchasing a good percentage of bicycles these days with the money they were making as independent wage earners. _That_ caught Mr. Pendrick's attention. Having Julia for an uninterrupted period of time, much like their honeymoon, appealed strongly to William, so he tinkered with his wheel creating a tandem ride for them with a light trailer. So far had it had worked splendidly, especially since a tandem set-up was more energy-efficient. The boat ride up the canal would take several hours, allowing William the time to catch up on neglected journal reading, and besides, he wanted to see how the locks worked. Being decidedly unavailable for anything even remotely to do with work was merely a bonus for the both of them.

Straining their legs up a stiff incline, they had barely made it in time to the proper lock at the base of the escarpment and find the captain with whom their arrangement had been made. Hungry and thirsty, the couple accepted a very late breakfast from the boat's crew to eat on deck. Here they were only Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch, eccentric travelers, a source of interest primarily due to Julia's cycling outfit, but otherwise incognito. The transit would take a large chunk of the day up a portion of the flight of 26 stone locks, each one 270 feet long and 45 feet wide carrying freight the 326 foot differential between Lakes Erie and Ontario, allowing them to relax and converse in peace. What the arrangement lacked in privacy it made up for with mechanical distractions for William to marvel at, which tore him away from his intentions to read. Julia, for her part, was fascinated by watching the people living or working on boats or ships of all sizes, and those inhabiting the canal side.

Today the lock, like most days, was jammed with crafts of all sizes, forming a floating puzzle of interlocking shapes, each captain and the lock crew working to move freight as fast as the laws of physics would allow. As the locks stepped up, an unobstructed view of Lake Ontario arose, looking more like an ocean by its size, but flat and sky-glazed today, allowing only a smudgy suggestion of far shore as the height increased to reveal Toronto, defined by her industrial exhaust. By the third lock, William had retreated to discuss steam vs oil engines with the crew, leaving Julia alone on deck to happily drowse despite the noise and ordered chaos of the canal, floating up, up, up to Thorold.

# # #

William gently brushed Julia's hair out of her face, amazed she was still asleep amidst the rocking cacophony. He smiled recalling last night's assignation after which the two of them raced without clothing into the water to cool off and get clean; fortunately none of their activities had resulted in interruption or arrest. A chuckle escaped his throat. He was sure that the smoke lowered his inhibitions, but he still could not bring himself to be actually ashamed. _Perhaps it was not the effects of the cannabis but only of Julia on my psyche_ , he pondered. For a whole day he had managed to forget he was Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary and just be William Murdoch, free to investigate what interested him. Gazing at his beautiful wife he knew one thing he could never forget: he belonged to her, the center of his world, no matter what captured his attention for the moment. "Julia…. Julia we are here," he breathed into her ear. Her blue eyes opened and focused, then she smiled up at him causing his heart to skip pleasantly. Without speaking, he helped her rise to gather their belongings and disembark into the town, expecting Thorold would provide a meal and additional supplies, with their intention to rest in Port Colborne and by Lake Erie before nightfall.

Julia was absorbed by amused thought as she ate her fruit on a street-side bench. She and William were denied entrance to any of the cafes along the main thoroughfare because of her supposedly scandalous and un-ladylike bicycle attire, which naturally set her husband to calmly insisting the proprietors were being variously foolish, insulting or blind, while increasing his assertiveness in the matter exponentially; all to no avail. Julia eventually (gently) persuaded William to let it go and just find a green-grocer instead, producing a fine repast and more than required for the rest of the day: plenty of water, fruit, bread, hard cheese and a kind of cured sausage, all at an excellent price. She teased, "Well, at least I was not arrested for wearing men's clothing! Did you know that Dr. Mary Walker, a pioneer female physician in the States, once told the arresting officers that indeed she was _not_ wearing any _man's_ suit, which I believe was a set of trousers, mourning coat and top hat she had on, but that it was her very own?" Julia saw that William smiled. _Probably thinking about getting arrested_ , she guessed, finally overcoming his grumbles about the restaurants. "So they had to let her go!"

He looked at her from under the brim of his hat while washing his last bite down with a swig of water, thinking, _Julia wearing men's clothing was an interesting vision as I recall_. "I have no intention of either of us to be in any kind of jail, ever again, unless we are there in an official, _Constabulary_ capacity." _Last night notwithstanding,_ he thought. "Shall we?" He secured their packages to the bicycle trailer, and took the lead position on the wheel.

Julia brought herself up behind him and off they went, meandering south along the canal. She found herself admiring his legs and backside, knowing full well he felt the same way about hers. The fact that his posterior at a crime scene was literally her first impression of him was not something she chose to factor in— _or ever tell him._ William once tried to explain to her it was because she had her back to him so often at the morgue, at the wash bowl, at the work bench or bending over a corpse that he could recognize her derrière anywhere… _That's the lamest thing I'd heard in a long time. My "back to him", My Ass! …_ she thought after which she burst into a fit of giggles at her choice of expletive. _But he did blush so attractively when he said it._

Once out of the congested commercial area it was easier to hear each other and converse. Underlying Julia's intention for coming along on this trip was to talk about adoption again, without any influence (or interference) from peers, friends, or work. It was understood William wanted a boy. Julia thought he could not really articulate why, despite trying to convey his feelings several times in several ways. It was not to establish a legacy or merely carry his name. Julia guessed it was something about passing on to a boy what it took to be a man, something William learned at great cost. She also had the insight that a son would awaken the boy in William, the boy that was not entirely suppressed by tragedy, religious prohibitions and William's careful, introverted nature.

At present they were considering if their eventual child would benefit from having a companion. Julia picked up the theme as she pedaled. "I think it is good for a child to have a sibling, psychologically speaking. We both had sisters and that shaped who we became as adults—although two more divergent personalities than our sisters I cannot imagine…" Julia heard William bark a short laugh of agreement.

"Yes, indeed," he answered. "I adored my little sister and for a while the two of us were all we really had enduring so much turmoil after mother died and our father dropped us at her sister's. My aunt was a plain-spoken woman; very strong, very practical, very devout and not given much to emotional upheaval. A respite from our father, perhaps." He adjusted their sprockets for a small incline. "I had just started to feel as if Susannah and I were really settling in when I was sent away to school."

Julia remembered delight in her baby sister being born. "When Ruby was born it was as if she was my own baby doll, almost a present for me…I am sure that is how my mother handled the initial sibling rivalry and jealousy issues." She put a hand out to his shoulder. "My mother would have liked you, William. It is painful to admit, but I am more like father, being tall and angular, and Ruby is much more like mother than I am—small, soft, conventionally feminine, and …"

"But hardly conventional in any other way," William added when Julia paused. When she did not cuff him, he took that as agreement.

"I tried my best, William, it just did not _take_ with her! Father expected me to perform the duties of training her to be a lady," Julia laughed at the idea, "and while Ruby is well-schooled in propriety she flouts it at will." In the past Julia might have actually been annoyed, but not any longer. "If we adopted a girl, who is to say I would have any better luck with her than I did with my notorious sister?"

He sincerely hoped that was rhetorical. "Would you have wanted a brother? Older or younger?" William inquired instead.

Julia thought about it; the boys she grew up around _did_ influence her. "I think a brother would have inhibited me actually, especially if he had been the over-protective sort. I had male friendships instead and did some supposedly masculine activities. It allowed me to learn to be assertive and comfortable with men, certainly useful in my life. Would you have wanted a brother?" She saw him shrug.

"I don't know, Julia. Having a sister, and a mother that I wanted to protect from our father, I supposed, makes me rather reflexively protective of women—you and the inspector have pointed that out to me on numerous occasions. On the other hand, if I'd had a brother we would not have been separated as Susannah and I were. I did feel a bond with some of the other boys at school and certainly looked up to the Fathers. I suppose I wonder what it would have been like to know Jasper…" He thought about the few friendships he forged over the years, most of them eventually slipping away. "I have always wanted to make my…er… own place, I suppose you'd call it."

"I am sure that came from your losses and being moved around so much, but that also meant you had no one to hold you back. I on the other hand, could not wait to get away from my father, from home, after Ruby was grown. I had been sparring with my father for years, but going to medical school was outright defying him." Julia grimaced again, thinking about the friction with her father before his death. "You know, William, no matter how hard we try to be good parents there are no guaranteed outcomes."

Discussion threaded back and forth between them as the miles unwound. To test Pendrick's tires on uneven country lanes and foot trails, their route used side roads and old mule and horse tow-paths along older versions of the canal, splashing through small creeks, with the new large-treaded tires absorbing some of the shock and gripping the ground well. They had had to stop occasionally to adjust things on the tandem and it was taking more time than expected, but Allenburg and Port Robinson sped by, with Welland to the west (where the more modern canal connected with the previous one and headed straight south to Lake Erie), when the subtle wobble building in the bicycle became alarming.

William braked the wheel and waited until Julia dismounted, to examine his modification of an Iver Johnson truss frame he used to create the unique tandem bicycle for them to share on this trip. He'd spent weeks sketching, researching and acquiring components, eventually deciding on bamboo instead of steel for the trailer and second seat, since it has greater tensile strength and was lighter. William pushed his goggles out of the way and eventually spotted the trouble, which seemed to be a serious bend in a (very expensive) aluminum wheel. "Julia, I think I can fix this, but it may take a while. At least it is not a wooden rim." He looked around the countryside. "Do you by any chance know where we are?" William had delegated navigator duty to Julia.

"No. Not exactly." Julia took her own eye protection off; because it has been so dry the ground threw up a lot of dust and she could not see the map with goggles on. Make that maps, _plural._ She had one topographical, one geological, one with each of the three canal systems superimposed over the landscape, and one with a latitude and longitude grid overlaid on roadways. That was the one she was actually using to choose their route. When William originally showed them to her he was excitedly going on about all the information contained in them and hoped the various facts to would enhance their journey; in Julia's view they made navigation harder. She recalled voicing her opinion: _How can we actually get lost? North is Lake Ontario, south is Lake Erie and east is the Niagara River. If we stay east of the canal that will make it a western boundary._ When she saw his face fall at her lack of enthusiasm, she immediately relented and indeed the maps added another layer of interest to their ride.

"I just thought as long as we go south we are on the right path. Perhaps Cooks Mills?" She looked around, the sun having swung nearly due west towards where the canal lay. That would be close to 43.3 latitude and -79.4 longitude. There was not a building in view, mostly open fields and wooded lots which obscured sight lines. Neither had witnessed much farming activity on their route since the crops were planted and it was not time for harvest; the area appeared quite deserted. They pushed the rig over to some shade by a stand of trees and Julia detached the trailer as William found his tools to started work on the rim. When it became clear her husband was lost to figuring out a solution to their vehicular dilemma, Julia found the edition of _Principia Ethica_ by G. E. Moore that she and William had been taking turns reading, and settled in, feeling pleased she got to the book first this time.

More than an hour has passed before Julia looked up from her book, to see William hunting around again for another elusive tool. He was not cussing or throwing anything (as far as she knew, he never _did_ ), but his body language clearly showed frustration. The bicycle was, if possible, in more pieces as the sun was getting lower. "William, are you sure you do not need my help?" She dropped her book and came over. Julia knew her way around a simple fix on a wheel but what her husband was working on seemed out of her area; however rather than _progress_ he seemed the be _devolving_ the contraption instead. She was looking forward to a nice meal at a lovely Inn (with attached bath) they booked for the night in Port Colborne, therefore she was getting worried considering the state of their vehicle, especially when the last dinner seating would be at 8:00 pm.

William sighed. "I am having trouble aligning the wheel properly. Aluminum is light and strong, but I am afraid to put too much torque on it. Here, can you hold this?" After another forty-five minutes of tinkering, he surrendered; while he had not succeeded in breaking the wheel he also had not straightened it. "Julia, that's it. We will need to find a black-smith, or even a good workshop with a vice clamp. Perhaps we could take the wheel towards the canal and a ship's engineer or crew could help? There is a slight crack that might need welding which is why this has been harder than it needs to be…" His only consolation was that it was not his frame or James Pendrick's tires that failed, but they were stuck regardless of the cause. His mind was drifting to imagining exactly what equipment it would take to effect repairs, when Julia interrupted him.

"William! Honestly, you have paid more attention to that thing than to me or the _time._ It's getting dark and you won't be able to see anything until morning any way." His wife said this with good humour. She was sad about the missed supper and chance for a nice bath since she was quite dirty and hungry from the day's ride, but was happy enough to find a farmer to take them in if necessary.

He looked around, startled that so much time had elapsed and the sun was indeed setting. A quick check of his watch produced an apologetic glance towards Julia. "Oh. I am _so_ sorry!" he gestured broadly to encompass the whole scene. He looked around, three hundred sixty degrees. There were no lights to be seen in the twilight. "Where was the last farmhouse we passed?"

Julia thought about it. "More than a mile…more like I'd say three miles." She came over to him with their map and pointed to where she thought they were and where she thought the last homestead was. "While it is not that far, I am not looking forward to navigating some of that terrain, at night, on foot. Perhaps we can stay here over night and try again in the morning?" She smiled to show there were no hard feelings about the situation; if anything it added to the allure of adventure. She could almost envision being lost in some foreign locale half-way around the world on a trek such as Ruby regularly enjoys. _No wonder Ruby takes off like she does. It can be quite exhilarating to be left to one's own devices._

William flipped options over in his mind for a moment then nodded and collected all the parts of the rig in a pile, before starting to help Julia set up a small lean-to with blankets and a tarp. This night was, if anything, warmer than the night before since there was no breeze off the lakeshore to cool them. The small copes of trees where they parked the bicycle backed into a thick stand of pines, where it was already full dark beneath the bows. Blessedly the weather and life cycles of sand flies, black flies and mosquitoes cooperated, offering crystal clear skies and a blaze of stars, with swallows and bats cleaning up the remaining insects.

Julia spread out their food and divided it into dinner and breakfast, figuring some sort of civilization should be reached by lunchtime one way or the other, even if they had to walk the bicycle to their destination. She took a rag and some of the water and proceeded to wash her face and neck, luxuriating in the evaporational cooling. William did the same to his unshaven face before making a small fire for light.

Eating their meal, William decided he did not need to think about the repairs, in order to focus solely on Julia and their decision about creating a family. The heartache after Roland left was less tender now, and privately he thought an infant was not really the best choice for them, having experienced caring for Roland first hand. "Julia, what if we find a pair of siblings to share our home? Brother and sister? Two brothers? It occurs to me that it may be harder for them to be adopted as a pair, so they might be separated, is that not so?"

"Yes, I think that is right. Infants are taken in more rapidly because it is felt they will bond with the new parents easier, not remembering their birth mother, or father if there is one…" She shifted her gaze to William, aware this was a vulnerable issue for him. "I think age makes a difference, and it makes a difference how or why the child ended up in an orphanage as well. You know, we are not that far away from indentured servitude being common place. And I know for certain children are still sold off… "

William continued the thought. "Sometimes older children are adopted but actually taken to work in a home or on the farm," he drew her finger in a circle indicating the vast acreage surrounding them. "Of course farming is hard work for any family member, but I mean adopted more as a servant than as a son or daughter." He saw Julia nod in disgust. For his part, he thought his aunt had tried to love him and Susannah as family members, but surmised she was relieved when William won a scholarship to boarding school at age 12 and Susannah entered the convent at fourteen. To be fair, his aunt did not _choose_ to add children to her life, unlike what he and Julia wanted to do. He asked, "What would you think of an older child? Or two? Would that be too much?"

Julia suspected William had been harbouring this idea for a while, but not ready to share his thoughts with her until now. "I don't know, William. Is there any chance you picture in your mind a five and eight year old, like you and your sister were?"

This time he was the one who kept nodding and chewing bread. "I admit it, Julia—you have taught me to suspect my motives—but seriously, children in that age range? If for no other reason that we are aging ourselves," he faltered when he saw her eyes narrow so he covered it with a smile, "Or at least I am. _You_ of course are ageless…" A roll sailed playfully over to his lap, well-aimed by Julia. "Or perhaps you get younger every year…" A second roll followed accompanied by laughter. "Why thank you, I think I _will_ have more…" Julia's laugh was precious to him and he grinned broadly back at her.

"William, I think the answer for us will be whatever we are presented with when the opportunity arises. The problem is going to be getting our house built and finding an agency that will even _let_ us adopt. We both realize getting Roland was… almost too easy." She stopped for a small breath. "Then we have to, I don't know, make a connection with the child," she paused, smiling, "or _children_ , so we know and they know it is the right fit for everyone…"

Full dark, no lights from habitation and no moon, produced a fabulous star-scape, giving William the idea to bring their blanket into a nearby field for star gazing, after making a small sleeping shelter deep in the pines. Julia assented and for a while they stared upwards from the fallow grasses, pointing to constellations and planets and sharing synopses of recent scientific or medical articles of interest. Eventually Julia could no longer resist the lure of William's reclining form, softly lit by the light of eons past. Disrobing before he could object, she freed herself to be sky-clad, explaining where the term came from. "No one is here, William…no one for miles around," she teased him by showing off her curves and pulling at his clothing. Once again he found himself unable to resist her, excited at the prospect of making love to her in the warm, silent dark, with no likelihood of being overheard or needing to curb their enthusiasm. He helped her remove his own clothing and settled himself on his back the better to view her body rising above him, crowned by the Milky Way…

At a particularly critical moment between them, Julia suddenly stopped him, because she thought she heard a disturbance.

This was not to his liking, momentarily confused at her reluctance. "Julia, what…?" Then he also heard the noise: a creak of leather, swish and tramp of a large animal across the grass, a soft jangle of _something_ accompanied by a mere hint of tobacco. Whomever was riding through the field beyond a small rise missed them by about fifty yards and disappeared as enigmatically as they came. "Shhhh, Julia," he whispered. "They are gone now, but sound travels." He unwrapped the blanket he hid them with as horse and rider came near. Leaning over, he swept his gaze along her iridescent skin admiring the glow of her creamy velvet dermis and play of shadows created by the evening sky. He looked to the Heavens. "It is quite amazing, isn't it? Events from so long past affect us in the present day; the geology of this place, the sun's in far of galaxies giving us this magnificent view." He gestured to include her naked form in that compliment. "I don't believe I am done collecting my 'set' of making love with you – I already have sunlight, moonlight, firelight, candle, gas and electric light. Tonight is starlight…" He bent to kiss her willing lips.

# # #

 **Dear Reader: "M" version possible if I hear back that you'd like one….**

# # #


	3. Chapter 3

**-Chapter 3-**

 **Wednesday**

"Stop, thief!" Julia shouted while aiming a stone and pitching it, hard.

William managed to chase the raccoon away just in time to save their breakfast. Their would-be masked bandit managed to dangle far enough off a high branch to snag the bundle Julia had made of their food and slung up there for protection, but after a small stand-off, the creature waddled away rather slowly. "That was nearly lost," William observed. "Rather bold fellow don't you think?"

Julia seemed amused and offered her own take on who was the "boldest fellow" in these parts, making William's sunburned skin pink up a bit more. He coughed and brought the wrapped items to their blanket to eat. Slanting sun had woken them up in the pine stand's sketchy lean-to, and after some discussion, they decided to pack up and get ready to go, before seeking the nearest farmhouse for help. In the better morning light, William saw telephone or telegraph lines strung in the distance to the south, indicating habitation in that direction was closer to them than retracing their steps several miles back towards Port Robinson. He suggested they could follow the path taken by last night's horse through the field when a sharp report sent birds scattering in alarm then suddenly go silent.

"William…that was a gun shot." Julia looked up, alert and pulse racing.

"And close," William agreed, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand out. He tried to reassure her. "This is rural country where people are up before dawn most days, and a shotgun or rifle is common for all sorts of reasons." He frowned. "Never- the- less, perhaps you should stay put while I investigate, and we both should wear something bright to avoid being mistaken for a deer."

Julia paid him no mind, but retrieved his revolver from their luggage and handed it to him along with a red neckerchief and insisted he take both items. She donned a bright yellow scarf. "I am going with you," she looked around and pointed, "in that direction where our night visitor went and where that shot came from. It seems that if we had broken down a quarter mile further we might have had shelter yesterday. Do we bring the rim with us?"

The couple loaded the trailer and exited the trees with their busted wheel and William's tools, making for the field. Just beyond the woods and down a gentle hill from where they spent the night, a small farmstead was revealed not 300 yards away, consisting of an unpainted lap-sided barn beyond which was a small house crafted in vernacular style. Curtains flapped in the windows indicating they were open, but there was absolutely no other movement on the property as far as they could tell. A long rutted drive angled from the front door down a hill. No lines ran to the house, so no electricity or telephone was to be expected. William and Julia went around and presented themselves at the front door. After getting no answer to knocking, they checked the barn—also deserted save for two horses. Julia decided to try the back door of the house, which was unlocked. She peered in the window and entered, then called William over, escorting her husband into the kitchen so he could view what she found.

"He's dead." She touched the man's face and neck. "It is hard to tell in this heat and with the stove lit for baking, but I think he's been dead a while." The man's chair faced the back door, and he was head down on the table with his morning meal cushioning his chin. A small round hole was prominent in his forehead near the hairline.

William made his sign of the cross before taking in the sight and sniffing, indicating he smelled no gunpowder, then set his revolver aside to search the area for other evidence. He was bending to look under the table when he heard the cocking of a gun and an angry challenge.

"Hold it right there! Who the hell are you and what have you done to old Morris?" William moved very slowly, bringing is hands up to stand next to his wife, whose wide eyes were clearly frightened. Two men filled the doorway, both dressed for farm work with the taller, older man holding a shot gun. When William tried to walk forward, the gun waved him back, so he stood aside, placing his body in between the long barrel and Julia.

"It's not what you think. We came looking for help and found him like this. My name is William Murdoch…"

Julia cut him off abruptly, knowing he was about to announce his occupation and introduce her as well, and she made a rapid assessment that was not going to be a good idea. "And I am his wife, Mrs. Julia Murdoch. Gentlemen, we were coming to this house to ask for help with our bicycle. I came to the back door and saw him like this through the window. " She smiled as sweetly as she could. "He was like this when we got here, but I went in to check on him just in case... We did hear what we thought was a gunshot perhaps thirty minutes ago now, from this general direction, but I don't think…"

Now it was her turn to get overridden. The younger man, black haired and about forty or forty-five years of age stopped her. "That's enough." He turned to his companion, who was holding the weapon as if he knew how to use it. "You two are standing in a man's kitchen with a gun and that man's been shot. We need to get the law involved. How about going back out on the porch while I see about what interested you so much under that table." The man gestured to his companion. "Doc Buchner? I'll go fetch the sheriff, if you hold that shotgun on them until we get back." He pointed to William and Julia.

Buchner nodded. "Will do, Abner." He gestured with the barrel of his gun, sitting his two prisoners on a bench, and himself in a chair facing them, business end of the shotgun trained and ready.

Julia tried to hold a collegial conversation with Dr. Buchner, but the more she spoke the darker the white-haired man's face got. By the time William nudged her a second time she relented and fell silent. Unfortunately, it did not get any better when the balding sheriff and his very young constable arrived, escorted back by Abner McKenney. William mistakenly believed that he could get things straightened out "law man to law man," by holding a reasoned conversation.

McKenney started. "Doc Buchner and I came 'round to talk with Morris about sharing out use of a steam-bailer and hired hands during harvest like we did last year to take hay to the canal, wanting to get a jump on it before other folks got their contracts signed." McKenney then made the introductions. "So, Sheriff Potter, we found these two, says they are a Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch, in old Morris' kitchen with that gun, poking around. The man was just setting his revolver down on the table to have a peek around and the woman was fussing with Morris." He moved his head towards the kitchen. "Didn't look to me like there was any time for anything to be disturbed, and no one else was around."

McKenney sketched out the discovery of William and his wife in simple terms, accurately as far as William could tell, except for the part about suspecting them of doing the killing. He was feeling somewhat confident the misunderstanding would be cleared up, until the local law man started making remarks about Julia's appearance, something about gypsies, and the general foolishness of city people wandering around the countryside up to no good, offering cockamamie stories as if rural inhabitants were dimwitted.

Sheriff Hiram Potter had flinty eyes. He bore down on William and Julia with obvious dislike, having made several additional sarcastic comments to William's attempt at explanation. "So, you claim to be a police detective and you are his wife, a _lady doctor_ , no less, from Toronto of all places and on a bicycle trip vacation, only your newfangled wheel got bent. You came here to get help fixing it?" The man oozed skepticism, looking at the pair's unkempt appearance and examining the bent wheel. "If you are a police detective then I am surprised you would poke around a crime scene, so that makes me doubt your story. Even if you are who you say you are, plenty of public servants are caught out as criminals. I think I am taking you and that hand gun to the local station where you are going to wait for a coroner's inquest to determine the cause of death and then we are going to consider arresting you for his murder." He looked Julia up and down. "You can go with my constable and we'll get you secured elsewhere—never had a woman in the holding cell… never a decent one," he squinted meaningfully.

Julia began a vociferous protest, pointing out that there was no actual evidence tying either William or herself to this death—"I think that if you examine the body and the wound you will find…"

"Madam, who do you think you are! That is what we have a coroner for, so unless you want a trip to our local holding cell with your husband, you will silence yourself!" Sheriff Potter spat. He glared at both of them. "Stop talking now. We'll hear you in court if it comes to that, but save it for then."

"Julia," William whispered low and urgently, "I think it is wise to do as he says. This will get settled soon enough and we'll be on our way by lunchtime," he appraised the sheriff again, "or surely supper time." He darted a firm glance at his wife, willing her, for once, to act sensibly and with discretion rather than impulsively.

Julia was seething, thinking she would in fact rather be _with_ William, even in a jail cell. She used every ounce of restraint she possessed to curb her outrage. It helped to remember she had some resources in her possession that might prove useful. She saw William's eye brows shoot up in surprise when she relaxed and smiled harmlessly at the constable who was charged with taking her away.

# # #

 **Six hours later…**

"Well, Julia…" William had a small quirk sneaking up the right side of his face as he greeted his wife, softening the exasperation he was feeling. "We are back. In a _jail_.  Again." Her husband sat on a wooden bench with his spine to the hard stone wall while Julia took up a second seat in the tiny companion cell to his left. The constable locked her in and glowered through the bars at her, then left abruptly in disgust, shutting the door with a bang and thereby closing off any movement of air.

"At least we are out of the woods, William," she said in return. "But we still do not have indoor plumbing." Julia motioned to the chamber pot in a corner of her cell. "My goodness, it is close in this room." She fanned herself with her hands. "I see you have opened your collar and buttons for relief of the heat…I think I shall do the same." Julia undid her sleeve buttons and rolled them up and then made a show of unbuttoning the neck of her blouse while giving William a sensual grin. _Well, he likes to_ _look_ _after all_ , she thought.

"Dare I ask what brings you here?" William had been left alone with a sandwich and jug of water several hours ago, expecting to be let go quickly; certainly not expecting to see Julia again _this_ way. He was aware she was attempting to tease him, likely to soften or distract from whatever story she was going to tell about getting herself locked in the cells with him.

"First, I have to apologize for getting us into this, William. If I hadn't gotten your gun out we would never have been held. I hope you can forgive me…" Julia touched his outstretched hand in greeting. "But, as a matter of fact, I had a closer view of Mr. Morris' body, and I can confirm what I think we both suspected: he was shot with a rifle. There was no gunshot residue and considering we heard what we think was the shot going off, the shooter was standing outside the door, making for that interesting angle of the wound. I also can confirm he was dead before he was shot—no blood. I have some ideas about that."

"What are you thinking? Not natural causes, I assume?"

"I suspect quick-acting poison, by the look of his face and skin, probably put in his breakfast. If whomever examines the body looks beyond the obvious, they should make some confirmatory tests. The inquest here is a straight forward but truncated affair, going on as we speak. They wanted to get it over with to decide if we should be sent to over to Welland. However, I imagine we will be let go soon since it was not your handgun that shot Mr. Morris." She grimaced, "Or at least _you_ will. I believe the sheriff and the crown prosecutor did not appreciate my examination of the corpse…"

"How did you get caught?" William asked evenly.

Julia noted he did not wonder _that_ she did it or _how_ she accomplished it; also that he was openly inspecting her throat and collar bones from his vantage point a few feet away. "The room I was locked in was right next door to where they brought Mr. Morris' body. In this heat no one wanted to leave him out on his farm for a viewing. Bringing him to a room in the basement of the court house was sensible and I guess is not unheard of, but in doing so I overheard some of the discussion about his death that I thought was wrong-headed." She gave her husband an embarrassed look. "I was caught getting back _into_ my locked room. When I tried to explain I was not running away and that I had concerns about the fact of the case, well that's when the Sheriff really got angry…"

William winced, quite well aware how capable his wife was of upsetting the status quo. "So, even though we found the man we will not be called to give testimony, I assume." William said.

"At this point I do not believe they will hear anything we have to say…I'm sorry William, I thought I could get out and complete my examination and no one would know…" She pushed her braid out of the way. "It did not occur to them to check me for weapons or other useful articles before locking me in a small office, with me being of the fairer sex." She made a girlish face and shrugged.

"Chivalry?" William asked, glad he was out of range of her hands. She had this habit of swatting him playfully, but occasionally it stung.

"Chauvinism more like it!" Julia managed a laugh. " _Now_ they have all my hairpins and the charming little pearl-handled penknife you gave me. The constable's wife was called in to do the deed of checking me over." Julia undid another button, revealing more décolletage. She looked around the room again. "You know, we could probably escape from here….."

William brought his hand down from where he was resting them behind his head, and gave her a calculating look. "Yes," he grunted. "I have come up with three different methods since I was brought in here. I think this place is mostly used to let the occasional intoxicated person sleep it off until morning. Certainly no maintenance has been done in few decades."

They lapsed into silence while Julia was trying to figure out an escape method of her own and wondered what William's schemes were. He would not tell; instead making her guess at them. Julia decided she would have fun with him and undo another button every time she guessed incorrectly, and received his mild chastisement. "Julia, you only have so many buttons and are already a source of outrage for the outfit you have _on_ ; it would be much worse for you to be found _without_ it." He smiled broadly at her, "The sheriff did say no _decent_ woman was ever in these cells…"

Frustrated with his logic and him being out of arms reach, she desisted, poking fun back at him. "William, _you_ will be missing out on the fun." He laughed and agreed that was so. Eventually she turned to him with a thoughtful expression in her eyes. "William. We have never been in jail _together_ before. We can add that to our list of experiences, and I now have a new story to tell Ruby." She gave a small laugh, before catching his eye. "I have been curious for a while…what would you have done to get me out of jail in Toronto. You said you'd get me out, no matter what. Did you have a plan?" She asked, finding herself unaccountably nervous at questioning him.

His eyes got momentarily bigger. "Julia, I …." He saw she was serious. He sighed and gathered his thoughts. "My plan was to prove you innocent. I _knew_ you were and I also knew that the only way to free you was to get the evidence."

She saw him pause and frown. "I am aware what you did for me, William. But, you know, if Gillies hadn't trapped you, his confession would never have come to light. I also know he expected us both to die, was never going to let either of us live, was never going to keep his promise to you that I would go free if you sacrificed yourself." She smiled warmly at him, proud of how clever he had been. "You outfoxed him." She turned serious again. "But, what would you have done if the judge or chief constable kept rejecting the evidence you uncovered? Knowing you I am sure you had a backup plan."

William looked seriously at his wife, thinking of all the joys he discovered by being at her side, the endless pleasure when she was in his arms, the final piece of _belonging_ that life with her afforded him. Even now, his gut dropped at the mere thought he could have lost her, forever. He tried to demure an answer.

"William. What is wrong? It is a fair question and one we have never talked about. Since you are locked in here with me, you realize you cannot escape answering," Julia teased.

William wrestled with the response he was about to give, and scratched his forehead before colouring a little, catching Julia smiling at his characteristic nervous gesture. He found her hand again through the bars with one of his, and situated himself so she could clearly see and hear him. He drew his other hand across his unshaven face and began. "Julia, are you sure?" When she only nodded he sighed again and started speaking slowly. "I had been working on a contingency plan for some time. I emptied my bank account a little, week by week to raise no suspicions. I made a gas-producing device to render the guards unconscious and I was going to take you out of the jail and down to the docks where I had a room in a brothel for us. I would have had you cut and dye your hair back to its natural colour and send you north with one of the girls where you would have taken sanctuary under an assumed name in a convent. After a few months, I would have sent travel papers through an intermediary, with another new identity I obtained for you and passage out of the country. I was thinking Iceland…" He stopped, knowing it sounded ridiculous now, but at the time it was the best he could set up, pulling on strings, bribery, relying on favours, working through layers of middlemen to buy time for her escape. If Gillies had not kidnapped him, all it would have taken was sending an apparently innocuous message to set it in motion.

"Iceland? William why would you send us to Iceland?" She was smiling at the idea. "Or is that just a stop-over for us until we find someplace with no extradition?" She kept smiling.

 _She still does not understand_ , he thought. His controlled expression started her smile to fall.

"Julia. There would be no 'we.' You would be going alone. I would not be joining you. Ever. It would defeat the purpose of disappearing to travel together or join up: too great a target, too obvious, too expected. If I saw no way to ever clear your name, I was going to either stay and confess in a way that threw the authorities off your scent, or try to make my way to Mexico to draw the search south." He saw her stunned expression and winced at the confusion and pain there. "In either event we could never contact each other…never see each other again." His grip on her hand tightened. "It was not just the law that could catch up with us, Julia. It was also James Gillies. He had abundant money and resources—and if he hadn't been caught, those resources combined with all the time in the world to find us again would have made him even more dangerous."

Julia's face reddened. "William! You plan was to have us separate forever? And worse, stay and be jailed yourself?" She was so upset it was hard for her to produce speech.

"I would have done what I had to do, just as I promised. I would never have let you die, Julia, no matter what it took." He had both her hands gripped in his, his eyes locked on hers, willing her to understand that without her, life would have ceased to matter for him, except for knowing she was free and alive somewhere in the world. _Jail might have suited me just fine without you,_ he thought but did not say.

Julia's breath hitched, and as his words sunk in she started to tear up. "William, I am not sure I could have accepted that fate."

He answered in a whisper. "Acceptance is like gravity—ultimately impossible to fight: it just _is._ One does not have to like it." He relaxed his hold on her fractionally and the side of his face drew up. "Fate eventually smiled on us, so I refuse to complain. Er… Can we talk about something else?"

For a while the two of them just sat in the small airless space, content to chat about trivialities and decline Latin verbs for diversion. Their conversation about the awful consequences created by the deranged mind of James Gillies was laid to rest. Julia still struggled to understand William was probably right: after rescuing her, they would indeed have had to part, likely forever. It made her so glad her life turned out as it did, to be so immensely happy with William. _I need to always remember that life is fleeting,_ she promised herself, feeling her mood lift and good humour return. _Even in jail, at least we are together_.

The discussion swung around several times to Mr. Morris' death and their more immediate predicament. Finally, Julia threw up her hand in frustration. "William, I don't understand what is taking so long. The Toronto Constabulary would have notified them we are who we say we are long before now. And we are being held on suspicion but not officially arrested yet—and will not be, I am fairly sure."

"Things just take longer in outlying areas, Julia. You have lived all your life in cities. When I was up north and when I worked the ranch, a trip to town could be an all-day affair: saddle up, or hitch the wagon, load and unload the goods, get the mail, do other business. They would have to round up manpower from townspeople or the farms—we did not see much in the way of paved roads or even telephones out here, so it will all take time." William had used his inactive hours to work out a few design problems in his head. He had an idea for an adaptation of a new technology to provide cooling for their house: inspired by the heat of the enclosed jail cell, he was devising an exhaust fan to bring cool air into the house and exit hot air through the attic.

Julia took a moment to observe the disheveled state she was in compared to her husband's tidy appearance, her buttons and his unshaven face notwithstanding. _He's like a cat that self-grooms._ She smiled ruefully. "If we are not careful, no one will ever let us adopt a child…we can't seem to stay out of trouble long enough. I truly do hope this episode does not hit the press again in Toronto." She sighed. "Do you suppose we can do something to keep it out of the papers?"

William admitted to himself that he gave this entire problem more than glancing attention while he was waiting in the cell. It unnerved him that they were talking about offering a home and security to a child or two, and part of that promise entailed a predictable life with parents the children could count on to be there. "I don't think our misadventure will come to anything Julia. But I have been thinking…We may need a live-in housekeeper—someone to be there with the children when we are away…"

Julia had no opportunity to answer. With a whoosh the heavy outer door creaked open and the Sheriff Potter entered, scowl firmly in place. He reached to his belt for a large ring of jangly keys and opened each cell without comment then stood back. Potter cleared his throat and spoke without preamble. "You two are free to go. The Toronto Constabulary vouched for you and I am disinclined to arrest you for trespassing, interfering with a criminal investigation or abuse of a corpse. We have another suspect and that will need the cell you are in." He looked closely at William. "I suggest you collect your weapon from the magistrate; it will be returned to you only when you get on your way." He turned on his heel and marched out, leaving William and Julia looking at each other.

Julia took off after Potter. "Sheriff Potter, now that you are apprised of who we are, you must know that as Toronto City Coroner I am able to provide valuable…" She nearly ran into him when he stopped dead in his tracks, causing her to yelp in surprise.

"Look here, Mrs. Murdoch, or should I say _Doctor_ Ogden, this is my jurisdiction and if you interfere again I will change my mind about detaining you. Neither I nor the crown prosecutor need your help." When he saw his words did not seem sufficient to deter her, he turned to William and commanded: "Murdoch, control your wife!" With that he stalked off.

Julia bit back a reply in time to lay a tentative hand on William's arm when he took in a great breath to argue back. Fortunately it got his attention long enough for the Sheriff to disappear. "William. Let it go. We have the rest of our trip to enjoy. You can get the wheel fixed and we can be on our way." She knew he was not happy with this idea but appeared willing to go along, leaving her to do up her dress and him to collect his tools and her items as well, before they made their way out to the street. "This is not our jurisdiction, not our case. And I think we need to keep our speculation about poisoning to ourselves."

Once back outside, the pair was greeted by no less than the two men who found them this morning. The younger man approached William and Julia, tipping his hat politely. "Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch. I thought we should meet on more convivial terms. Let me officially present Dr. Maynard Buchner and I am Abner McKenney. We are, _were_ , neighbors of Oliver Morris whom you found this morning." He smiled. "Sorry about that. No hard feelings I hope?"

William shook's both men's hands and formally introduced Julia. He noticed the tandem bicycle and trailer were resting in the back of a wagon. "Thank you for bringing that to us, but I still need a blacksmith or workshop to fix the rim. Can you direct us?"

Doc Buchner nodded. "Yes. Abner here has a repair shop should do the trick. Would you like a ride? We can fill you in on what happened while you were otherwise occupied, if you have a mind…"

# # #


	4. Chapter 4

**-Chapter 4-**

"Old Oliver Morris was a hard man, difficult with his hired help—no one stayed very long. His sons left as soon as they could to get away from him – later both of them died in Afghanistan. Broke his heart, really. Lived alone on that place after his wife died with only a girl to come in and red up his house and do some cooking for him. I thought that new coloured farmhand, Gideon I think his name is, was a decent sort; it sure surprised me to hear he killed old Morris." McKenney and Doc Buchner chatted with William and Julia while bumping along in the wagon. "Sheriff Potter says that they found the farmhand, heading up-canal on a barge. The constable brought him back down with a sack of his clothes and an old rifle. He says he quit late yesterday and took off, but did not get too far because he forgot his gun. He says he bundled down for the night and got up before first light, walked back to the house, got his rifle and just took off again. He says he did not see Morris and did not know where he was. He refuses to say why he left suddenly and said he's surprised his gun was fired, let alone used to shoot at old Morris. He insists he didn't kill him."

"Dr. Buchner, did you get to see Mr. Morris' body? Did you perform as coroner?" Julia asked.

Buchner shook his head and shrugged. Abner McKenney grinned and answered for him. "No. For two reasons: First, because he was with _me_ when we found _you_ , the prosecutor decided he was exempt in case he was needed to be called as a witness against you two. Second, Doc Buchner does not practice medicine anymore because his eyesight is too poor." McKenney chuckled. "He might have held you at bay with that gun today, but he couldn't have aimed it to hit you if he tried."

Buchner laughed. "All too true. I am not totally blind, I can see enough to get around, although my wife suspects I malinger to get out of doing things she wants me to. I see nothing in the distance and nothing close up anymore because of retina tears. Regardless, around here everyone is a part-time something or another on top of being a full-time farmer or craftsman or shop-keeper. Including the Sheriff who raises pigs and prosecutor Atkinson who plants corn and hay, for that matter. They pulled the young fellow who took over my medical practice off his orchard to go take a look at old Morris." Buchner frowned. "He does not know the first thing about being coroner, so the sheriff and prosecutor, shall we say _guided_ him. Once they figured out your hand gun was not the right weapon and that Gideon was gone, it was not hard to add it all up." He smiled conspiratorially. "You folks did not do yourselves any favours. Not everyone likes strangers wandering around the countryside. And no one likes city people putting in airs."

Abner McKenney's workshop was simple but seemed outfitted with what William needed. Buchner said farewell, giving his horse permission to take him home to his wife along a familiar path, while McKenney offered to put William and Julia up for the night. "I have plenty of room and I feel it is least I can do for you after all the trouble. My wife and daughter in law make a good roasted chicken."

Julia perked up a bit at the prospect of a hot meal and proper bed, so she sent an encouraging smile to William. He was not so sure. He said, "Thank you for the offer, but we need to get on our way, to make up some time…"

McKenney looked at Julia. "I have a closet-folding tub that makes a nice hot bath."

That of course did it. "We would be grateful to accept, Mr. McKenney as long as you do not think your reputation would suffer from having us stay with you?" Julia only half-teased. She was aware small towns loved their gossip.

McKenney leaned closer. "I have a bet going with Buchner on that." He winked and continued. "I will dine out all the long winter on this story of the famous Detective Murdoch and his wife Dr. Julia Ogden! ... Besides, I thought you'd like to stick around for the proceedings tomorrow and see how this all come out."

# # #

 **Thursday**

The tiny Cooks Mills municipal building barely held twenty seats for spectators on long wooden benches. There were the standard two tables plus "bench" for the magistrate, Mr. Homer Crowland, with a chair for the witnesses and benches for a jury. Most criminal cases were sent to Welland with only minor issues settled in the small town. Right now they were trying to decide if, based on circumstantial evidence, Jimmy Gideon would be formally charged with Morris' murder and sent Welland for trial.

William, Julia, McKenney and Buchner arrived in time to acquire seats. Julia, who was a source of some minor gossip, had pulled a white linen dress from her luggage. She was presentable in her outfit, with a small straw hat and lace gloves, sitting ram-rod straight to make up for the lack of corset; she but knew full-well it fooled none of the women present. William had bathed and shaved as well. He was not quite sure why Julia was distracted toward him, but he hoped it was not because of their ongoing discussion about children.

" _William,"_ she had said, _"I had two parents but I was raised primarily by a series of nannies and governesses. Overall the experience was horrid_." When he realized this was about her feelings about her own upbringing, he told her a little about his feelings about his. _"Julia,"_ he told her, _"a child's security is based on consistency. I too think it is important to be an active parent, but a child needs to know they will be taken care of no matter what. Even I can see why my father took us to our aunts—he was incapable of caring for us as it was, but especially if he was going to go back to working long hours away from home..."_

The prisoner was the center of everyone's attention in the stuffy, standing-room-only space, with commentary and tobacco smoke flowing freely and openly, at least before the court was called to order. Anyone not milking or feeding was there before 10:00 am when Mr. Gideon was taken out and presented to the court. The town constable brought him to the tiny dock, with Sheriff Potter undoing the handcuffs with his noisy key ring. The Sheriff kept order and the prosecutor, one Mr. Zebe Atkinson, explained the case against the man. Tall, dark-skinned and lanky, Gideon sat stoically—refusing to confess, and refusing to explain, which artfully confounded the open and shut case the authorities thought they had. The only thing additional he was willing to say was that the rifle was the sole legacy of his own father, a slave from the States who served in the U.S. civil war, which was why he was so keen to retrieve it. He stuck to his story that he quit, collected his wages and left, and that he did not shoot Morris. In response the prosecutor even went so far as to make the lack of clear motive evidence of the heinousness of the crime and reason enough to charge the prisoner. No one said anything about the man's dark skin and African heritage, but William and Julia both assumed it weighed against the man, but not as much as the fact he was an outsider.

Abner McKenney identified people in the room and Dr. Buchner offered William and Julia background on them in a _sotto voce_ , explaining who was related to whom, who were the business owners and the farmers, etc. Mr. Crowland, the magistrate, was the largest landowner in the area and from one of the oldest families; he had four daughters and a wife who enjoyed the finer things in life. Buchner confirmed that the locals were suspicious of new comers—defined as anyone whose family was not farming before the war of 1812. While all this was going on, what caught Julia's eye was a young woman a few rows ahead of them, that McKenney pointed out was Renée Durand, another non-area native who cleaned and cooked for Morris. Dark haired and small, she alternately tore at her handkerchief or plaited her apron trying not to weep or gasp at what was being said. She appeared to be staring a hole in the back of Mr. Gideon's head. Julia at first thought it was anger or distress at the man who killed her employer, Mr. Morris, but as the morning progressed she was not so sure.

"William. This does not make any sense. What do you think?" Julia whispered.

To William, Gideon having a motive for coming back for his rifle was the only part of the story that actually made sense. William knew confessions were prized, and hard evidence preferable to a circumstantial case like this. He whispered back: "Without a confession I doubt he will be convicted at trial. There is no motive and no direct evidence to support the man's guilt. I tend to think there is something more going on here. But the sentiment seems to be against Mr. Gideon none-the-less. Why shoot someone who was already dead? And why is the prosecutor not addressing that?" Both he and his wife looked carefully at the agitated woman in front of them.

It was all but certain Magistrate Crowland was going to order the farm hand be taken to Welland on suspicion of murder. To the amazement of all present, Miss Durand burst out. "Non! You cannot! I killed him, I shot him! I confess. _I confess!"_ She vacillated between sobbing and defiance.

The room erupted. Gideon bolted out of his chair towards Miss Durand, shouting "No!" in protest. The Sheriff and constable grabbed the girl and farm hand, pulling them apart.

Crowland called for order, pounding on his desk with his fist so hard his watch chain and insignia clanged loudly together with the fastener and decorative cigar cutter he wore, while spectators stood to get a better look. "Everyone sit down! Miss Durand. Come forward. Sheriff Potter, keep Mr. Gideon in a seat. Mr. Atkinson take your place." He looked angrily at the young woman. "This better not be a trick of some kind. The evidence points to Mr. Gideon's rifle shot Mr. Morris and that he ran away afterwards, never mind his story."

The young woman stood up straight, shaking hard. In French-inflected English she declared: "Non! I will say it. I shot Oliver Morris because he drove my Jimmy away. Mr. Morris was a pig, made an improper behavior towards me and told Jimmy I wanted this. Jimmy broke our engagement and left me. So I picked up Jimmy's old gun because it was there and because I was angry. I shot Mr. Morris and left." Miss Durand sat abruptly and slumped as if the strings that kept her aloft were suddenly severed.

This statement sent the room into an uproar again. William turned to Julia over the din. "That gives a motive for the murder—revenge against her employer and her lover all in one. She almost got it to work."

"It also gives a reason for him remaining silent if he knew or suspected she shot the man, because saying why he left would involve her…except we know that he was already dead before he was shot." Julia added. "I was about to say that I thought she was disturbed by the proceedings right before she confessed. I think if they were lovers that also explains why he tried to get her to stop talking, to stop confessing. He was willing to sacrifice for her." Julia looked lovingly towards her husband, allowing unspoken sentiment to momentarily pass between them.

Mr. McKenney and Doc Buchner leaned in, having been eavesdropping. "Except I understand you believe he was already dead when he was shot," said Buchner. "Perhaps you should talk to the Sheriff, crown prosecutor or even the magistrate if you have evidence. Do you?"

The noise did not abate. The magistrate, fished for his watch then jammed it back in his pocket in irritation, calling over to the nearest man, the prosecutor Mr. Atkinson. "What is the time, sir?"

Atkinson checked his own watch and called out "Eleven-thirty am, your honour." The magistrate recessed the court for an hour while the Sheriff cleared the room. William, Julia, and their two companions exited the building.

"Mr. Murdoch, Dr. Ogden?" McKenney asked when they found a quiet patch to speak. "What do you know?"

Julia and William turned to each other. William gestured for Julia to speak. "While I cannot be sure without testing and a full autopsy, I believe Mr. Morris was dead before he was shot. There was not enough blood from the wound and the edges of the wound do not show hemorrhage. That indicates to me that he was already dead before the bullet entered his skull."

"So what do you think was the cause of death?" asked Buchner.

"Gentlemen, I suspect poison." Julia answered confidently. "I think it was obvious the farmhand was not guilty from the beginning. What I don't understand is why that young woman is confessing to shooting Mr. Morris—although it may be just as she said. Perhaps what really happened was she shot him to make sure he was dead because she was not confident in the poison."

Abner McKenney looked surprised. "You think the Durand girl _poisoned_ Oliver Morris?"

William looked at his wife who nodded. "Yes, we do. She may not have known Mr. Gideon would come back for the gun," William continued the idea, "but it would have to be exceedingly tight timing for Miss Durand to shoot Mr. Morris and then Mr. Gideon to come by and take the weapon before my wife and I arrived—considering we heard what we think was the shot." He paused in reflection. "Although we do not know for certain it was the _same_ shot—there is an outside possibility it was a coincidence." He frowned, showing his distaste for coincidences.

"How did he get poisoned then?" asked McKenney.

Julia said: "William and I now suspect the young woman poisoned him with his breakfast bread. I was watching her behaviors in the court room—she was distressed in the extreme, so there had to be another element going on. The bread, a kind of pain au levain, is left rather soupy overnight and then baked off in the morning. She could have come in early in the morning as usual, added poison to the bread and then left the baked loaf for him to eat. She might have known his habits quite well. Something fast acting would mean she would not have had to wait very long. "

William offered: "The other idea is after he was dead, she got the notion to shoot Morris to direct suspicion on Mr. Gideon, fabricating evidence as an act of revenge on him for leaving her."

Julia nodded, considering the terrible price that is sometimes exacted for rejection, recalling the unbalanced minds of James Gillies and Eva Pearce.

"Or even Gideon shot old Morris to divert suspicion from Miss Durand," Buchner speculated.

Julia nodded, "However, I am interested to hear Miss Durand's full confession because there is some of this that does not hold together, neither the evidence nor psychologically-speaking."

"I think we should try and speak with the Sheriff and prosecutor if possible, and share our views," William said, "before the court resumes." William looked at his attire and sighed. It was going to be difficult to win over either man and he was very sure that since he presented the appearance of a common labourer, no matter that his identity as a detective has been established, he was not likely to be taken seriously.

Indeed, his first attempt to have Sheriff Potter speak with Julia and himself ended badly, with another threatened arrest, at minimum, for trespassing. "Mrs. Murdoch. Even if you are a medical examiner, now you think you are a lady alienist?" William began to defend her by saying, "Well actually…" before Julia stopped him, knowing the cause was lost. The Sheriff thought them both to be ridiculous and untrustworthy in the extreme, his disgust more than obvious.

Atkinson, the crown prosecutor was no better help, happy to have a confession and not wishing to cloud any issue before the confession was officially taken and the court ruled on the matter. "I will argue for leniency: shooting as a crime of passion, sudden erratic female emotion and she will likely avoid the noose," was all Atkinson would offer. Poisoning would argue for premeditation and upend his theory of the crime, so he was not about to be consider that idea.

Dr. Buchner managed to get a brief exchange for the four of them with magistrate Crowland in his cramped chambers behind the court room, only by reminding the man he once saved Crowland's daughter's life, back in the day.

"This is very irregular." Crowland said, arms over his chest and face reddened by more than the heat. Tobacco smoke curled about the room. "I take it you are talking to me because you failed with Atkinson and Potter? I am about to take that woman's confession and rule in…" He set his cigar aside and tried to look at his watch again and then put it into his pocked in frustration.

Abner McKenney looked quizzically at the magistrate, then reached into his pocket and brought out a small winding key. "I see your watch has stopped. Why don't you see if you can wind it with my key?" Crowland accepted the small key, inserting it into his watch and turning the mechanism, before uttering thanks and giving it back.

William absently noted Crowland's handsome watch had a chain with a few repaired links. _Probably a family heirloom_ , he thought. William and Julia were given exactly two minutes to speak, the magistrate's scowl creasing more deeply as the time ticked by. Crowland looked very frustrated. "It is too late to hear you on this. It is just like a woman to pin the blame on someone else in a panic and then regret her actions and confess. Miss Durand has confessed in open court to means, motive and opportunity, and I am compelled to act on that. So unless she recants, she will be sent on to Welland as guilty. We will resume in forty minutes, time enough to take her confession in writing."

Expelled back into the court room, Julia expected William to have a frustrated expression on his own face, but instead saw he had that particular faraway look he acquired when he was absorbed by a problem he was trying to solve. Outside of Crowland's chamber, the atmosphere was suddenly awkward between the Toronto couple and their two local companions.

McKenney broke the silence first. "Well, I am going to do a little business while I am in town. I will see back here you here in forty minutes. Mrs. Murdoch, Mr. Murdoch." He tipped his hat and motioned for Doc Buchner to follow.

Julia started to walk out right behind them when William stopped her. "Julia, wait. Let them go."

"What is it William?" Julia was curious at the change in her husband's demeanor.

William made sure they were alone before answering. "What if neither Miss Durand nor Mr. Gideon killed Oliver Morris?"

# # #


	5. Chapter 5

**-Chapter 5-**

"William, what are you thinking?" Julia was allowing herself to be hurried along by the elbow. William steered her to some shade along the side of the building and scanned to make sure they were not overheard.

"Julia. What if Abner McKenney killed Oliver Morris? That watch key he offered to Mr. Crowland. I swear it was the same one I spied underneath Mr. Morris' table in his kitchen. I was about to reach for it when we were interrupted by McKenney and Dr. Buchner. He must have dropped it when he was at Morris' house, either while putting poison in the bread dough, or taking a gun out and shooting—no bullet has been compared to Mr. Gideon's rifle and you saw the long gun holstered by McKenney's saddle. He could easily have circled around and pretended to come up to the house, either meeting up with Dr. Buchner or…"

"…Or perhaps Dr. Buckner was in on it as well—supplied the poison?" Julia was thinking out loud now. "They could have seen us coming up on the house and decided to investigate—conveniently 'finding' us and thereby having a way to have suspicion thrown our way." She looked intently at William with a chill overtaking her despite the day's heat. "Did we just spend the night in the house of a murderer?"

Her husband grimaced. "It explains why they were so intent on befriending us: a pretense to keep us under their control, and why they pointed out all sorts of information about their neighbors." He got his own timepiece out. "We have less than thirty minutes to dig into this case. We have a start on means and opportunity; we need to find motive." He looked all around at the vast farmlands surrounding the town. "My guess it will be about the land, but we can't rule out some other interpersonal vendetta. Julia, can you go find the local land office or hall of records? Mr. McKenney and Mr. Buchner both indicated they were neighbors of Morris. Let's find out about any land or debt issues. I am going to telegraph Toronto. Meet me back in the courtroom in half an hour."

# # #

William was pacing outside the small municipal building when Julia approached, escorted by Dr. Buchner. He raised his eyebrows at the pair, silently questioning his wife.

"It's all right, William. I met Dr. Buchner in the records room I was searching. We came to an understanding, and found some interesting things." Julia drew the three of them together, and motioned for Buchner to speak first.

"I was thinking about who would benefit from Morris' passing." Buchner frowned. "He and his wife had no children, and he could have moved on, sold out his land and gone, but he was a stubborn sort with a streak of sentimentality to him. He and his family farmed here for a generations and there is a family cemetery on the land-I knew this about him since he talked about it a time or two. I got to wondering what will happened to his land when he died. Turns out he was mortgaged to the hilt which is what I was checking on when your wife came in with a better pair of eyes. His land will all be sold off to pay his debts, with an exception for the family plot."

"Who stands to benefit? Are the debtors that need to be paid?" William asked.

"Yes. But even so—no one is buying large farms around here anymore—it will be sold off by the parcel unless the nearby landowners want to expand. The easiest sell will be to the contiguous farms: mine, Abner's, Mr. Netherby's and even Mr. Crowland's, although the magistrate has been selling around here rather than buying. There are a few other smaller holdings."

William said bluntly. "Dr. Buchner. That means you had motive to dispose of Mr. Morris if you wanted his land."

Julia intervened. "William, I think you will find Dr. Buchner has not much motive, as he has been selling and renting out land, not buying." She looked at the old man and he nodded. "He does not have long to live and does not gain from Mr. Morris demise." She saw that people were filing in for the court proceedings and gestured for the three of them to hurry.

Gaining the wooden steps, William whispered urgently. "Then if I may be somewhat indelicate. What about Abner McKenney?" William said, looking at the other man's expression as he answered.

"I don't know, Mr. Murdoch. Abner was going on about that watch key…" Doc Buchner pointed to McKenney who was already in a seat right up front. "What kind of poison do you think was used?" He turned to Julia for an answer as Magistrate Homer Crowland was having the room called to order and asked that Miss Durand be brought back out. William and Julia were just sitting down in the second row next to Buchner as the magistrate seated himself, arranging his black robes around him.

William suddenly reached over to grip Abner McKenney's shoulder, hard, causing the other man to turn around. McKenney's grey eyes were round and worried. "Mr. Murdoch, what…?"

"Mr. McKenney. Please tell me right now what business you were doing in the last hour." William said in a low, intense voice.

McKenney looked at Buchner and then at Julia and William. "I thought I found motive for someone to do in old Morris." His eyes slid automatically to the front of the room. "But I have no proof."

William spoke up. "Mr. McKenney. I think we can prove that someone other than Miss Durand _or_ Mr. Gideon killed Oliver Morris, but I need to know what you know."

"You don't think she did it do you?" McKenney said, still not answering William. "I think we need to wait until we hear her confession."

The constable and the lady in question entered at that very moment which cut off further discussion. All rose and the session came to order. In a small, tearful voice, Renée Durand identified herself, and began her statement to the court, acknowledging that she was making her statement freely and with the awareness she was circumventing an arraignment and a trial by doing so. She reiterated that she shot and killed Oliver Morris Wednesday morning after arguing with him and finding out it was Morris that drove her lover, James Gideon, to break things off and leave her. She laid the gun down and walked away through the fields back to her lodgings, hoping to cast suspicion on Gideon by doing so. At this, she broke down into heaving sobs, crying so violently that she was unable to go on.

William took the break as an opportunity to get McKenney's attention again. "What did you find?" William insisted the man answer. "Be quick about it; Miss Durand will be back to her confession any minute." When McKenney did not speak, William tried again. "Mr. McKenney. What about that watch key? I thought it was yours."

Abner McKenney looked up, startled. "No." He brought out his own watch to show. "Mine winds by the stem. Crowland has his father's watch, and needs a key. _This_ key I think…"

"Putting him in the house with Oliver Morris, after Miss Durand cleaned on Wednesday morning. I noticed there was no dirt or dust anywhere," William stated rapidly. "I was reaching for that piece of brass when you came in and stopped me." He paused. "For a moment I thought _you_ killed Morris," he smiled tightly, "with or without the help of Dr. Buchner." McKenney's eyes flew open in surprise and Doc Buchner snorted.

Julia asked. "What is the motive you uncovered?"

Dr. Buchner leaned in. "We have to stop this confession, Abner. Do you know why would Homer would do such a thing?"

McKenney brought out a paper from his jacket pocket and held it tightly, before turning it over to William. "Mr. Murdoch. This is what I found."

William scanned the page. "This indicates Mr. Morris' wife held title to land east of Grimsby."

McKenney explained. "That is an area that Mr. Crowland is buying up property. If Homer Crowland wanted or needed that land, there was no amount of money in the world would get Morris to part with it." Doc Buchner nodded in agreement with this.

"Gentlemen, there is your true motive." Julia said.

Doc Buchner's face was sad and distressed. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "What could be so important about _that_ land to kill over? It is beyond me." All three of the men appeared to be contemplating the vagaries of human nature, when Julia interrupted the silence.

"Wine! Gentlemen the answer is _wine_." Julia said. "That land would be about 43 degrees North, next to the lake, good soils and fine climate for good wine. There are not that many placed in the world with the correct conditions—any land with those characteristics would be valuable." Julia saw her husband assembling the map features about which he was so fascinated. Julia sought her husband's eyes with hers. "I judt don't drink the beverage, I actually know something about wine regions and how the composition of the land affects the taste of the wine. It is called _terroir_. William, we cannot let this woman sacrifice for her lover, when it may well be neither has done anything wrong. Mr. Gideon and Miss Durand each may have thought the other took revenge on Oliver Morris for fouling their relationship, and protecting each other fits best with their behaviors." Julia felt a particularly strong affinity for this couple she did not know, aware it was because of her own history with William. She saw in his face he had similar instincts.

"I think we need to interrupt this proceeding as well," William told them.

"Are we in agreement then?" Abner McKenney asked of his three companions, receiving 'yes' all around. "Mr. Murdoch. What shall we do?"

William looked down, gathering his thoughts. "We cannot let her finish her confession. However, both you gentlemen have made it clear that as outsiders my wife and I will not be regarded favourably." He brushed off his trousers and straightened up, wishing he had on his good suit. "On the other hand, that also means you will not have to be the one accusing your own neighbor." The sheriff came over to glare at William, and hiss at him to be silent.

William saw that McKenney and Buchner had considered the ramifications of accusing not merely their neighbour, but the town magistrate, of murder. Indecision warred briefly within William because it felt as if he would be abdicating his duty by not intervening. He turned to Julia to help him make the decision. She reached for his hand, letting him know she would support whatever he decided to do. He exhaled and nodded to McKenney.

Miss Durand was composed again and rose to finish her statement, the room becoming quieter so that everyone could hear what she was going to say to seal her fate. Before she could utter her next words, William abruptly stood. "My name is Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary." He said loudly and clearly. "I am aware that I have no jurisdiction in your town, but I am sworn to uphold the law. I object to this confession on the grounds that it is a lie. It would therefore be a miscarriage of justice to allow a false confession." Immediately the whole room to subside into shocked silence, followed by a flood of shocked and angry voices.

The sheriff came over to take William by the arm and put him back in his seat, looking angrily at him, and then looking from McKenney to Buchner to Julia and back again. McKenney nodded at Sheriff Potter, who blinked and then relaxed his grip on William slightly, nodding back to McKenney in return with a guarded but quizzical expression.

The magistrate was half out of his chair, ordering the sheriff to remove William for disrupting the proceedings. Slowly Abner McKenney rose and turned around, asking for attention from his neighbours; equally slowly the bedlam ceased. "I think we should listen to what Mr. Murdoch has to say. And the best place to do that is where we all can hear him out." He stood there quietly, asking for respect, which got him more attention than the magistrate who was blustering away behind his bench.

Sheriff Potter was caught between Crowland and the other people in his community, and saw where the balance was. He let William go as McKenney sat back down, but stood right next to them, anger and frustration plain on his face. Zebe Atkinson was also attentive with Miss Durand quietly sobbing again.

"What are you on about, Detective Murdoch? This is not your case." Asked Mr. Atkinson. "What miscarriage of justice?"

William pitched his voice so everyone could hear. "This is not only about love, but it is about greed. Two people, a man and woman, were willing to sacrifice themselves for each other, each believing the other did the deed in killing Oliver Morris. Neither is guilty of the crime, only in losing faith in each other." Renée Durand began to sob louder.

William continued. "At first you thought I shot Mr. Morris, but it was the wrong kind of weapon and there was no motive. Next you thought Mr. Gideon might have done so, but his story did not hold together and it was all circumstantial. Then you thought that Miss Durand killed Morris—there was motive and means, but the opportunity for shooting him was weak."

There was a rustle of dissatisfaction mixed with agreement in the room. When he had everyone's attention again, William announced. "I have information that proves Morris was not killed by anyone shooting him."

People in the room grumbled louder, and both the sheriff and prosecutor looked hard again at Miss Durand. Crowland's face had gone from red to deathly white. He sat like his namesake—a black crow with back wings formed by his magisterial robes, head bobbing back and forth from prosecutor to sheriff to William. His voice was hollow when he spoke. "You have no standing in the court. And nothing but wild speculation, speculation you have been trying to sell to the court, the sheriff and the prosecutor with no luck, so you have changed your story to this ridiculous tale, no doubt egged on by your busy-body wife. I will not hear this and we will continue as before. Sheriff Potter, remove this man so we can call the room to order."

All eyes turned to the sheriff. Potter's gaze wavered between the magistrate and Abner McKenney, then William. He spoke to Crowland directly, but really his message was meant for the room. Potter found his voice. "Actually, I want to hear what Detective Murdoch he has to say."

The room's attitude remained skeptical but there was a perceptual change. William cleared his throat. "Mr. Morris was not shot to death by Miss Durand. There may have been a lover's quarrel between her and Mr. Gideon, but neither of them killed Mr. Morris with that old rifle. He was already dead when the bullet hit him." Gasps were heard in the room, the largest from Miss Durand herself.

Julia rose next to William. "My name is Dr. Julia Ogden and I was Chief Coroner for the City of Toronto and I am currently Acting Chief Coroner. As such I am very familiar with investigating causes of death." She spoke directly and confidently, gathering her audience. She saw a few people nod their heads in recognition of her name, and hoped it boded well. "An autopsy will remove the bullet and then testing can tell us exactly which weapon the bullet was fired from. However even a very brief examination of Mr. Morris reveals he was dead before he was shot as there was no bleeding."

"Then what killed him?" "Why shoot a dead man?" Variations of this were repeated by several in attendance.

Julia answered. "In my professional opinion, a full autopsy will also reveal he was poisoned." That caused the room to buzz in consternation as she sat back down.

Mr. Atkinson interrupted the commotion and pointed back at Miss Durand. "Poison is a woman's weapon after all. If she did not shoot him perhaps she poisoned him then?"

"Then why confess to shooting him?" William asked reasonably of the crowd. "There is someone tied to the crime with motive and by physical evidence. William then turned to look at the magistrate. "That person is you, sir."

"How dare you!" Crowland's color rose dangerously as he started to shout, asking for the court room to be cleared. The crown prosecutor and sheriff stood and looked about, noticing how calmly William was standing in the midst of the chaos. They called for order, but not to have anyone leave.

Zebe Atkinson asked for calm. "That is outrageous, Mr. Murdoch. What is your proof?"

The magistrate was so wound up he blurted angrily: "Yes! _Detective_ Murdoch. Tell me so I can sue you for slander!" Spittle decorated his mouth as he lunged forward, rattling his watch chain against the wooden table.

The hair stood up on William's head when he heard that sound. Something had been pricking at him for a while-he finally connected it to the noises he and Julia heard when that rider went by them in Morris' field. William stood squarely and confidently. "As you wish, Your Honour," he said. "The first piece of evidence is your watch. It has stopped, has it not? A family heirloom I would imagine, not like a modern timepiece that is stem-wound. Unlike a simple leather fob more suited for manual labour, you have a handsome gentleman's chain, recently repaired, with several accouterments attached. Your watch stopped because you lost the winding key and I think you lost it in Mr. Morris' kitchen when you shot his corpse. I believe your watch chain caught in the mechanism or as you brought it up to fire." Mr. Crowland was now stiff and holding on to his chair arms.

Abner McKenney stood up. Now everyone was very still, holding their breath, hanging on their neighbor's words. "I found that watch key under Mr. Morris kitchen table. It exactly fits the magistrate's watch." He brought it out of his pocket and handed it to Sheriff Potter who looked at it curiously, and then made eye contact with Atkinson: both recalled that the magistrate's watch was suddenly not working.

"Most telling, I have in my possession motive that implicates someone else other than Miss Durand or Mr. Gideon—someone who actually benefits from Morris' death." William paused for effect. "That is also you, Magistrate Crowland. You wanted the property Morris' wife left him near Grimsby. That's good land for grapes, is it not? Right next to those acres you already own?"

Homer Crowland's face was a mask. "This is preposterous! You have no proof I poisoned anyone. I don't know anything about such things. And you cannot place me anywhere near Morris' house."

At that, Doc Buchner stood, speaking to the room. "Well, I have another thought about that. A full autopsy will prove this one way or another, but I happen to know for a certainly one of Mr. Crowland's daughters nearly died as a child from ingesting poison that she got into on his farm. The same poison that I have on good authority was probably used in this case." Buchner looked over to Julia who gave a solemn, definitive nod.

Buchner motioned for William to keep going. "The last piece of evidence is two witnesses who saw and heard someone travel to Morris' house in the middle of the night, coming from the direction of your property. Witnesses who will claim that they smelled your cigar and heard the very distinctive sound that your watch and chain make."

Now the audience swiveled more intently on the magistrate, having heard the clanging of his watch and chain themselves in that very room.

"And who would that be?" Crowland's voice was weak.

William paused. "My wife and I, sir. I believe you went there to put poison in Mr. Morris' bread, knowing it would throw suspicion on Miss Durand when she unwittingly baked it for him the next morning." Renee Durand swooned upon hearing this.

McKenney took back over. "You might have gotten away with it except you could not leave it alone. You went back the next day to make sure your scheme worked, that Morris was dead, and for some reason decided to obfuscate the whole thing by shooting him. You had it in for Mr. Gideon and Miss Durand but you over did it!"

William sat down next to Julia, while each face in the room turned to the magistrate, whose own eyes showed the whites of extreme distress. Crown prosecutor Atkinson straightened his attire and the papers in front of him, and coughed. "Your Honour. You are still the authority in this court room, lawfully invested in the rights and responsibilities of your office. Speaking for the crown, I am withdrawing Miss Durand's confession and will not move forward with charging her or Mr. Gideon." He looked towards Sheriff Hiram Potter, who was still fingering the key in his hand.

"Hiram?" Crowland whispered, as the sheriff approached the bench and silently asked for the magistrate's watch.

Beyond his ability to resist, Crowland brought his timepiece out the full length of the chain and watched in horror as the sheriff easily slid in the key and gave it a turn.

The sheriff turned to the court, putting his back to the bench, and his friend of forty years. "Miss Durand. You are free to go."

Homer Crowland interjected, summoning all the authority he ever owned. "No. No. I will pronounce that. As you say, I am the magistrate and it is my duty. Miss Durand, you are free to go. Mr. Gideon as well." He stood and steadied himself. "Sheriff Potter, Mr. Atkinson. Please wait here." With that the magistrate made his way with slow dignity to his small chamber behind the court room and softly closed the door. The people who witnessed all of this poured off the benches and out into the street full of chatter and disbelief while Miss Durand made her way out in a daze.

"Is that wise?" William asked Sheriff Potter, gesturing to the closed door. "He is guilty and should be arrested. "

"There is nowhere for him to go, and he is still our magistrate and…"

A sharp bang shattered the air. Potter got the door to the back room open first, to find his friend sunk over in his desk chair, a great bloody gap in the side of his head and William's revolver on the floor.

# # #

 **-Epilogue-**

 **Thursday Evening**

Julia claimed a rocking chair on the Inn's veranda, enjoying a lovely cool breeze off Lake Erie, while William read his newspaper in the fading light. She was never so grateful for lack of telephones in rural communities, as well as a general reticence amongst the locals for airing their dirty laundry in public. She and William left quickly when it became clear there was no point in staying and their presence was a disruption. Mr. Crowland's death would, of course, hit the papers eventually, but Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch would not be available for interviewing and their names would never appear in print associated with the case, if all went according to the town's preferences. _William's_ preference had been to leave the revolver with Sheriff Potter as evidence, and he made it plain he was in no hurry to have it back, as irrational as that was. Even though they lost a day in Cooks Mills, Julia agreed to finish the trip as planned, getting William back to Toronto in time for Sunday Mass.

Over dinner the two of them had returned to the issue of adoption. They discoursed on the meaning of family as a rather intellectual exercise before bringing it down to their personal feelings. Julia wondered if William still had any lingering doubts about her commitment to the two of becoming parents, so she asked him outright.

He did not answer right away. _"Julia,"_ he told her. _"I want you to be sure. As much for your sake as mine, but especially for the sake of the child. Parenthood becomes a sacrifice you make, not for me, but for the child we bring into our lives."_ His face was open, questioning. _"Family is not all about biology, but we have to be clear on our intentions. If you do this only for me, hide or suppress your true feelings that will be a mistake."_ He smiled at her in mild embarrassment when she gave him a face. _"Yes. I know. I have been as guilty of that as anyone in the past…"_

" _Yes, William. I do want to be a mother. It is true I never really did before, well…after I learned I could not have children of my own I think I gave up the idea, sure that flaw in me would preclude a successful marriage. I am not even certain I wanted marriage—until I met you, of course, " she teased him fondly, "no matter the twists and turns before getting us wed… I agree that family is important and, for once and for all: I want this not just for you, but genuinely from my own heart as well."_

William nodded, accepting her promise and felt a great contentment solidify within him. " _So, two children, agreed?"_ He asked.

" _Yes, William, the more I think of it, I like the idea of adopting a pair of siblings, or failing that, two unrelated children… perhaps two who already like each other, so that adoption does not separate them, even as it could separate siblings."_

Her suggestion hit him like a bolt. Making friends in the conventional sense had always been difficult for him, and he recalled rather painful enforced separations from companions in his past. To have been able to enjoy a friendship until it ran its natural course would have been a blessing. _"Julia that is a wonderful idea! Two friends taking in two other friends…"_ Even if he did not put a label on it, Julia was his more than wife or lover, she was his best friend, and it occurred to him that it was the mutual caring that created family, not the law or genetics.

She could see he was pleased, and it warmed her heart that he was already coming up with plans for their education and care.

"… _.And of course school will be important. I was wondering if you approve of public schooling? It seems we could be excellent teachers ourselves to supplement their education. We certainly own enough reference works and I can make the library in our home into a classroom affair."_ William went along for several minutes before Julia pointed out that not all five and eight year olds are capable of advanced concepts in chemistry and physics.

" _William. What if one of them wants to become an artist?"_ He blinked at that before smiling wryly at his witlessness.

" _Of course. A child must be guided, but with the grain, so to speak, not against it. You and I know that all too well from personal experience to make that mistake. I wonder if one housekeeper will be enough? What would you say to hiring a student from the Normal School? Someone like Miss Birdy Carillon? You remember her, don't you?"_ He liked the young woman and thought it might be a satisfactory solution all around. When Julia looked expectantly at him, he was slightly nervous. _"What is it?"_

" _There is nothing more to say,"_ she answered. " _I just think we finally decided, and I makes me very happy and eager to get started."_

Now, well-washed, and well-fed, the couple relaxed before turning in; unity of purpose about their family provided a glow of contentment. However, all day, both avoided talking about the magistrate's suicide, with William feeling guilty that it was his weapon and Julia feeling guilty because if it had not been confiscated it would have never been there for the man to end his life. "William?" she asked, getting a distracted "Mmm?" in return. She tapped his paper. "I can't stop thinking about what happened today. I think it was tragic."

William lowered his paper and readjusted himself in the chair. He has been unsuccessful in engaging his mind with the news, his thoughts also turning to the shocking outcome. "Naboth's Vineyard," he offered.

"What?" Julia didn't catch the reference at first.

He explained. "Naboth's Vineyard. Old Testament: First Kings, Twenty one. According to the story, Naboth owned land that King Ahab wanted. The king tried to buy it, and Naboth refused. The King's wife plotted to kill Naboth to obtain the land and satisfy the king's greed."

"Doc Buchner did say that the only way Mr. Morris was going to give up that land was over his dead body," Julia felt her outrage flare. "It was all foolish, William! Miss Durand and Mr. Gideon could have talked with each other and easily learned the truth; instead they made conclusions without evidence and then acted upon their false assumptions. Homer Crowland coveted what he could not have, which drove him to homicide and then lay the blame on another. Oliver Morris could have sold his land at a profit, paid his debts and he would have lived; instead he would not let go, which cost him his life." After she said it out loud her gut abruptly clenched: that was uncomfortably close to the core of her history with William.

"Yes." William said simply, noting sudden disquiet on Julia's face. He had a guess his wife was seeing story parallels fitting their own lives, and he wished to dispel her pain. He folded the paper and set it neatly aside. Rising, he took her hand and smiled crookedly, banishing all ghosts. "Julia, I am tired and our bed is calling. Shall we?"

She met his eyes and joined him, taking his arm and brushing against him as they walked. "William, do you think Miss Durand and Mr. Gideon will be able to resume their romance?"

He stopped and brought her to face his placing a soft kiss on her lips that built in intensity between them, stirring passionate delight in him and an answering desire in her. He paused to answer, pleased that Julia's face had lost its consternation and became flushed and dreamy: "We did."

 **-The End-**

 **# # #**

 **A/N: Dear Reader: thanks for coming along for the ride—hope you enjoyed it. Here's the unwritten contract between writer and reader: I write. You read and then** _ **You**_ **write— Review what you liked, what you didn't, speculations, story suggestions, anything at all. Don't be shy. This causes me (and my guess is the other writers) to write more when you review. Try it. It took me a long time before I was comfortable writing feedback or a review but it got easier the more I did so. I so very much appreciate it when you do- rg**

 **Go read the original story: Melville Davisson Post (1916) "Naboth's Vineyard" published in the Illustrated Sunday Magazine June 4, 1916 (Or maybe he got the idea for** _ **his**_ **story from one of William's cases?...** _ **Stranger things have happened.**_


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